Our Obnoxiously Awesome Chem Teacher
by goctyudicbdkvhb175749674
Summary: He's loud. He's annoying. He's obnoxious. He's somewhat egotistical. He's got the worst case of ADHD anyone has ever seen. But, most of all, he's their awesome chem teacher who always rambles on and on about his French-Canadian boyfriend. Human AU where Prussia is a chemistry teacher who may be a bit loud for everyone's tastes but also has a heart that's bigger than a mountain.
1. How are you a chem teacher?

**Chapter 1: How on Earth Did You Become a Chem Teacher?**

* * *

The class sat soundly at their desks, apprehension and anticipation building into a chorus of uncertainty.

Everyone had been talking about him; he'd been the center of gossip and discussions alike for the entire summer, perhaps even before then.

Now, with the first day of school minutes away from arrival, the lucky, or perhaps unlucky, few within Pre-AP Chemistry anxiously waited. They waited because after the longest time, the school had finally replaced the old chemistry teacher, and such a large change within the school ecosystem had everyone on edge.

The previous chem teacher, Mr. Bernard, was a short and stubby old man with grey hair and wrinkles galore, and he had recently retired. No one held any ill will towards him. However, no one really liked him particularly much, either. He was just a teacher, and a slightly grumpy one at that, but he got the job done, so that was good enough. Nothing special, nothing spectacular, but in no way unpleasant.

No one knew what to expect. Apparently, this new teacher was only about to enter his second year of teaching, which made everyone feel nervous. The newer teachers were always a fifty-fifty gamble between classroom bliss or a hodgepodge of inexperience and stick-in-the mud rule-following, and everyone hoped for the former scenario.

Seconds turned to minutes, and as time seemed to both slow to a snail's crawl and melt away too quickly for anyone to remember, a squeaking of shoes echoed outside the science room. Everyone jolted at the sound of the door being slammed open, and in slid a man. Well, maybe. Everyone would soon figure out that while he had the body of an adult, he had the demeanor and attention-span of an excitable five-year-old.

The bell rang, and there the new teacher stood, frazzled and sleepy-looking yet with a gleeful expression on his face. Countless eyes stared him down, and the students could only hope that he was at least half-decent at lecturing.

The teacher in question wore a formal, albeit rumbled, light blue dress shirt and a pair of black dress pants, which also could've used a single iron in, like, ever. That didn't seem so bad, but when the class got a good look of the rest of him, jaws went flying as eyes widened to golf-balls.

His skin was pale, almost blindingly so, and as time went on, no one would ever be able to agree whether his hair was blonde, silver, or platinum, with the topic of his hair color eventually being relegated to the basement where all the school's unsolved mysteries sat, and there they stayed. Forever. Never to be solved or even looked at again.

He also appeared to be quite muscular underneath his clothing, which heavily contradicted the stereotype of the shy and nerdy science teacher, and a smug, somewhat douchey grin plastered itself onto his face. For the rest of the school year, rarely did this grin leave him, but when it did, you knew that things were serious and shit was about to hit the fan.

And, to add to the oddness of it all, for some reason, a small yellow bird hovered around his shoulder. Weren't pets not allowed at school?

Everyone's stares then moved onto the new teacher's eyes. His eyes were red, with a slight chance of being demonic, and some thought in their heads whether they should pull out the rosary beads and holy water and perform an exorcism. However, upon noticing the cross he wore as a pin on his shirt, those students were convinced that he wasn't the devil, despite his eerily red irises, because crosses hurt demons.

Silence. For two seconds. Two seconds was all it took for this new teacher to flip everyone's mind around and make them dizzy at the stream of words that continuously flew out of his mouth. Everyone thought he was German based off his accent, but he would constantly insist that Prussian blood ran through his veins, even though that country no longer existed. Five seconds in, and everyone came to the conclusion that the school year ahead of them would be a glorious cluster-fuck.

"Hello! I am the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt, but I guess you can call me Mr. Beilschmidt, and for the rest of the year, I will be your AWESOME CHEM TEACHER!" the teacher all but screamed at the top of his lungs, and his smile became inhuman. Okay, so perhaps he was a demon. It also only made logical sense for Mr. Beilschmidt to kick one leg up on a vacant chair while his small bird continued to hover above him, but despite all that, the animal didn't even flinch. That bird was probably used to Mr. Beilschmidt's obnoxious awesomeness, and upon such a realization, the particularly religious among the class shot up a quick prayer for the little bird and his mental state.

Holy fuck was Beilschmidt loud. And obnoxious. And annoying. And downright hyperactive, with the worse case of ADHD anyone had ever witnessed.

And awesome. Don't you ever forget the awesomeness.

With his leg still on the chair, Mr. Beilschmidt pointed to the bird above him and exclaimed, "And this is Gilbird, MY AWESOME BIRD!"

Wait, holdup, why did he name his bird after himself? And why was seemingly half of his dialogue typed in all caps? And why did he give off the vibe of being an over-the-top anime character in a past life? Questions upon questions floated through everyone's head, but even as they spent more time with Mr. Beilschmidt, none of those questions ever got answered. In fact, the amount of questions everyone had about him just continued to snowball into an asymptote as the year went on.

"Okay, I'm about to call roll, make sure everyone's here and all that cheese," Mr. Beilschmidt announced as he reached for his roll call clipboard, and after a quick glance, he said aloud, "I'm not too picky over if you say 'present,' 'here,' or if you light a smoke signal. Just signify in some way that you're here, and correct me if I make a pronunciation error."

Everyone hoped that Mr. Beilschmidt had been kidding about the smoke signal, because within this school existed people who would eagerly take advantage of the very suggestion of lighting a fire during roll call.

"Andrew Neil?" Mr. Beilschmidt, a bit louder than socially acceptable, called out.

"Present!"

"Antonio Vargas?"

"Here!"

"Brain Williams?"

Before Brian Williams even had a chance to speak, Mr. Beilschmidt interrupted in apparent realization and elation. "Hey! Williams is Birdie's last name!"

"Birdie?" someone questioned. "As in Gilbird?"

"No, that's just what I call my partner," Mr. Beilschmidt replied. "It's a nickname that stuck."

"Oh, so your girlfriend?" that same student asked, but Mr. Beilschmidt didn't reply. "Or wife?"

. . .

"Boyfriend."

. . .

The class froze.

"I'm gay," Mr. Beilschmidt clarified.

The class froze again, but Mr. Beilschmidt seemed unfazed.

"In terms of coming out of the closet, this ain't my first rodeo, alright? And, in all fairness, this isn't the worst reaction I've gotten," Mr. Beilschmidt told them, his tone casual, disinterested, and nonchalant. Judging by how easily he disclosed the fact of him having a boyfriend, the class assessed that Mr. Beilschmidt was quite acquainted with the prospect of coming out, and at this point was even bored of it.

"HERE!" Brian Williams broke through awkward, awkward silence, and Mr. Beilscmidt continued.

"Cindy Roy?"

"Present!"

"Carter Gagnon?"

Carter gave Beilschmidt a thumbs up.

"Dennis Lee?"

"I'm here!"

And so roll call continued in relative peace, the class still surprised but not uncomfortable at their teacher's willingness to discuss his sexuality, and then the real party began.

When Mr. Beilschmidt finished attendance, he brought his leg down from the chair and slammed his clipboard onto the lab bench that stood next to the whiteboard. Then, he swiped a stack of papers off said lab bench.

"I don't think you'll be too surprised, but there're some forms you guys have to bring home and sign, including a safety agreement, as this is a science class. If either you or your parents refuse to sign the weaver, legal mumbo jumbo, blah, blah, blah, you won't be able to participate in labs. Also, there'll be a list of safety rules on the back you'll have to go over for a quiz this Friday. If you fail, you'll have to either keep retaking until you do pass or sit out during labs, which is something that I doubt any of you want, but," Mr. Beilschmidt turned to the class, his ever-present smirk growing, "I don't think that some common sense questions will be too difficult for you guys."

So Mr. Beilschmidt was cocky in both his and other people's abilities, which, the class would learn, isn't always a bad thing when you need someone to believe in you.

Mr. Beilschmidt counted enough papers for each row, and he handed the person at the front of each row a counted mini-stack. Then, he instructed them to pass the papers down for efficiency, explaining that the aforementioned mini-stack method would be policy for the rest of the year.

Okay, okay, so far, not too terrible. Mr. Beilschmidt looked and acted a bit unusual, but as of this point, his methods and policies seemed reasonable enough.

Then, something happened. Something happened that surprised everyone. It surprised every single student within the room, but not in a bad way.

The change in the room's mood was instant.

"As these are our very first moments together, I want to make something very, very clear," Beilschmidt said, the sudden increase in volume startling everyone for not the last time. Suddenly, the atmosphere grew serious. The students could've sworn that the temperature had dropped ten degrees, and when all eyes returned to their teacher, there flickered a glint in his red irises, a glint that told everyone that he meant business.

This would be the first, but definitely not the final, time everyone would see him like this. In fact, when it came to the matters Mr. Beischmidt was about to yell at everyone about, he would, every time, become uncharacteristically serious, and it was a seriousness that could scare the daylights out of anyone, especially out of those who knew him well, as such a tense mood proved to be highly, highly unusual for the hyperactive and happy-go-lucky teacher.

His voice started out as a low rumble, but as he continued, he gained volume, intensity, attention, and, surprisingly, people's respect, for what he was about to say carried great relevance to a crowd of insecure and unsure teenagers.

"I want you all to listen and listen closely, alright?"

Silence. By the way, silence would become a rare phenomenon within these four walls that had been plastered with Einstein posters and periodic tables, if that hadn't been obvious enough, and such a silence would only befall in Mr. Beilschmidt's presence if he allowed for it.

"Everyone nod," Mr. Beilschmidt said.

So, everyone nodded.

"Okay, good," Mr. Beilschmist continued, just as intense, if not more, than before.

"This classroom, this very classroom, will be a comfortable and SAFE place for EVERYONE. No if's, and's, but's, NOTHING, and I DO NOT CARE if you think I'm some sensitive snowflake who says everyone's special, because I am SERIOUS in regards to what I'm about to say.

There will be NO HOMOPHOBIA.

There will be NO TRANS-PHOBIA.

There will be NO RACISM.

There will be NO XENOPHOBIA.

There will be NO MAKING FUN OF OTHER PEOPLE'S, OR OTHER PEOPLE'S LACK THEREOF, RELIGION,

There will be NO SEXISM.

There will be NO BULLYING.

There will be NO SLURS of ANY kind.

There will be NO DISRESPECT from and to ANYONE, including ME.

Pranks are funny; HATE CRIMES are NOT.

There will be NO HARASSMENT, EVER. That means no VERBAL or PHYSICAL attacks, because TRUST ME, you DON'T want to know what it's like to be cursed out just because you KISS your PARTNER of the SAME GENDER in PUBLIC.

People dare say 'How DARE they" when I hug my BOYFRIEND while we're minding our own business on a lunch date of all things, and then my poor MATTHEW BIRDIE WILLIAMS is trying not to cry because he's been made to feel ASHAMED of LOVING. And then, the stupid homophobes will HAVE the AUDACITY to tell him to man up when they're the ones being CHILDISH, IMMATURE, and PLAIN HATEFUL. Plus those same people will probably turn around to the poor witness behind them and scream at them to go back to their own country even though that person they're screaming at RIGHTFULLY lives in THIS COUNTRY.

If I see someone be so NASTY and MEAN and just plain DISRESPECTFUL to someone else, I will do ANYTHING within my power to stop any sort of hate crime, hate comment, or ANYTHING that makes ANYONE feel physically or emotionally UNSAFE, because NO ONE deserves to be harassed over which gender they LOVE, which gender they feel the most COMFORTABLE as, what skin color they're BORN WITH, where they're FROM, what RELIGION they follow, if any AT ALL, or ANYTHING and EVERYTHING about them as a person, because as long as you aren't hurting other people or yourself, you should be able to be ANYTHING you WANT TO BE.

I don't care whether someone identifies as a FLIPPING SPATULA. They're not hurting anyone? SO BE IT. I WILL NOT JUDGE, and they, TOO, SHOULD BE TREATED WITH RESPECT.

DOES EVERYONE UNDERSTAND?

DOES EVERYONE GET THAT THIS CLASSROOM WILL BE A PLACE WHERE EVERYONE RESPECTS EACH OTHER, INCLUDING ME RESPECTING YOU GUYS AS STUDENTS AND AS PEOPLE?

If I catch anyone bullying anyone, which includes students and even TEACHERS outside of my classroom range, and I am very serious about this. If I catch someone harassing another, I WILL write them up, and there WILL be consequences. I DID NOT move HALFWAY across the WORLD to escape my crazy, nutty, religiously-fundamental parents who DON'T accept their own son for the way they ARE, to witness the same thing happen in CANADA of all places.

IS EVERYONE, ABSOLUTELY EVERYONE, CLEAR?"

. . .

And, just as suddenly as Mr. Beilschmidt started his very clear and very tense speech, he stopped, leaving everyone's neck hairs standing. The class may have felt a little scared, but also, a wave of relief washed over a boy named Joseph, who, unbeknownst to the rest of the class, was gay and in the closet and unable to come out due to fear of retaliation from his parents - foreshadowing for later -.

The confidant grin returned. Terrifying red eyes grew light and humorous again. Mr. Beilschmidt returned to normal so quickly that it pushed some students to do a double-take, but there he was, as overly-energetic as ever, and he continued as if he hadn't just gone off spouting the most intense defense of human dignity and respect anyone had ever seen.

"NOW THEN!" Mr. Beilschmidt walked - no, jumped - in front of the whiteboard, startling everyone with his sudden outburst in the process. They'd grow accustomed to it, though. Mr. Beilschmidt rarely yelled or did anything out of malice or anger; he was just really, really loud.

"Since today is only the first day, I believe that it would be rude to not introduce myself, because you'll be stuck with me for the next nine months!" Mr. Beilschmidt strode over to his computer, inserted a flash drive, connected said computer to the projector, and pulled up an introductory PowerPoint, as well as, interestingly enough, a quite long, quite thin tree branch.

At least he didn't fumble with the technology like some of the newer teachers often did.

"So, as you all know," Mr. Beilschmidt said as he used his tree branch to point to the projected PowerPoint, "my name is Gilbert Beilschmidt. I would've had you guys just call me Gilbert because it's easier for the author to spell, but Birdie told me that it's kind of weird to call teachers by their first name, so you're stuck with spelling out Beilschmidt on your test forms."

He pulled out a slide entirely dedicated to the spelling of his name, and, while using his stick to point out each individual letter, he exclaimed, "It's B-E-I-L-S-C-H-M-I-D-T, Beilschmidt. It might take a while to learn the spelling, but I have 180 names I have to remember, so I think you guys got it easy. Also, before anyone says anything, I am Prussian, NOT German, and you can't tell me otherwise!"

"But Prussia no longer exists!" someone dared to say. Everyone else in the class either slammed their heads onto their desks with exasperation or did so in their head.

Mr. Beilschmidt's smile dropped for half a second, and that same person immediately shut up. The dissolution of Prussia was obviously a sore topic for Mr. Beilschmidt.

Out of nowhere, Mr. Beilschmidt chuckled, and the rest of the class, in a half-amused, half-uncomfortable manner, did the same. Mr. Beilschmidt laughed and laughed and laughed, each cackle growing louder than the last, and a terrifying kesesese sound thundered from his lips, a sound that sent shivers down everyone's spine. Was that supposed to be a laugh? Because all of this pointed towards Mr. Beilschmidt being the actual devil in disguise.

To everyone's relief, Beilschmidt's god-awful laugh eventually stopped, which gave the space a moment of silence and a much-appreciated chance to breathe.

"Alas!" Mr. Beilschmidt exclaimed in both a dramatic and exaggerated manner, breaking the very brief moment of silence. "I must move on from my awesome name!"

Doing as he said he would, he - hesitantly - clicked to the next slide.

"So as you all know, you are in Pre-AP Chemistry. Now, this is by no means the easiest class in the world, and it's potentially a huge jump from last year, but I hope that if we work together well enough and don't yell at each other every five minutes like my brother and I, we can make this work. Speaking of my brother, though, there's a picture of him."

Mr. Beilschmidt, just for a second, looked nostalgic, and he clicked to the slide which apparently contained a picture of his brother. When the image popped up, he spoke, or rather, he performed a hybrid screech-laugh that somehow produced coherent words.

"This handsome fella is Ludwig. He's a bit of a control freak, but I'm stuck with loving him since we grew up together." Mr. Beilschmidt then pulled up yet another image, "And this is Feliciano. He's about as smart as a carton of pasta, but still a good friend of mine and Ludwig's, and I feel as if," Mr. Beilschmidt paused for a moment before giving his class a suggestive wink, "he and Ludwig are, so speak, a bit more than friends."

The students went silent for a moment, half of their faces turning red out of the sheer awkwardness of what Mr. Beilschmidt had suggested, and for a few skin-curdling moments, the only sound anyone could hear was that 'kesesese.'

After wiping off the tear of laughter from his eye, a tear that came about due to everyone's collective expression of shock, Mr. Beilschmidt thankfully quieted down and continued pulling up images for him to narrate.

"You guys already know about him, but this is Gilbird, my awesome bird! Birdie and I adopted him from a shelter, and now he's pretty attached to both of us. We've had him since we started dating three years ago, and last, but certainly not least."

Beilschmidt's face went red as the biggest, goofiest, most love-struck smile ever spread across his face, and everyone could've sworn that they saw hearts and butterflies flutter around him. His expression grew wistful and loving, and when he clicked to the next picture, his expression was that of complete and utter adoration. "It was hard to pick which picture of Birdie to include because he's so adorable in all of them, but after three hours of deliberation, I decided on seven!"

On the PowerPoint, there were, indeed, seven pictures of a blonde-haired, violet-eyed man who had a curl near the top of his head, and the class had to admit that Gilbert's Birdie looked quite adorable. They also wondered how Beilschmidt had managed to score such a precious-looking cinnamon-roll.

Mr. Beilschmidt resumed chattering almost immediately, him being able to talk about his precious Birdie even more than he talked about himself.

"EVERYONE, I present to you my beautiful boyfriend, MATTHEW WILLIAMS, a.k.a. BIRDIE. Look at him! Look. At. This. Man. AND TELL ME HE IS NOT THE MOST ADORABLE PERSON ON PLANET EARTH, NO, THE UNIVERSE, NO, THE MULTIPVERSE! JUST LOOK AT HIM! HE'S SO CUTE! I LOVE HIM SO MUCH! HE'S EVEN MORE AWESOME THAN I AM!"

He was screaming at the top of his lungs as his face turned into a tomato, steam pouring out of his skull not unlike how someone would in an anime.

Mr. Beilschmidt clasped his hands together, and as if he was the most lovesick person in the world - he probably was -, he stumbled back dramatically, then fainted, for the rest of class.

Well, this was going to be quite the year. And Mr. Beilschmidt had definitely existed as an anime character in a past life, that much being certain. Everything else, though, remained up in the air.

* * *

 **I hope that you enjoyed the first chapter of _Our Obnoxiously Awesome Chem Teacher_! I had a lot of fun writing this, and with luck, the next chapter should be coming out soon!**

 **Hopefully, I will be able to make you laugh, cry, get angry, and everything in between because even though this story is under the humor category most of the time, get ready for an eventual good punch of the feels directly into your heart. Keep your eyes especially peeled for the chapter that was foreshadowed about Joseph, because I plan on that being one of the most, if not the most, intense chapters in the story.**

 **Please review, favorite, and follow if you're interested, because I'd really like to see what you think, and other than that, have a nice day. :)**


	2. Smile

**Hello friends, readers, turtles, dogs, donuts, and everyone under the sun! I am back with another chapter!**

 **I must warn you, though, that if you are sensitive and triggered by brief mentions of abuse, self harm, and thoughts of suicide, you might want to skip over this chapter, and I think that you deserve to know before deciding whether to read. In all honesty, I didn't expect for the emotions to come so soon into this fanfic, and I promise that the next few chapters will be much more upbeat and funny. It's just that I wanted to get some characterization out of the way and explain some of Gilbert's motivations.**

 **Other than that, I hope that you enjoy this chapter, and again, I PROMISE that next chapter will incorporate more humor elements!**

 **Chapter 2: Smile**

* * *

Joseph was 15. Joseph had brown hair, blue eyes, and a face dotted with countless freckles. Joseph had straight A's. No one ever noticed Joseph's straight A's. Joseph was quiet. Joseph was shy. Joseph's parents yelled at him. Joseph's parents fought. Joseph's parents forgot about him for days on end. Joseph felt - no, was - broken. Joseph saw himself as damaged goods. Joseph was scared for when he had to go home. Joseph found refuge at school, even if Joseph had no friends.

Joseph was in the closet.

Joseph was hiding.

Joseph is gay.

And then enter Gilbert Beilschmidt.

Mr. Beilschmidt is everything Joseph is not.

Mr. Beilschmidt is confident. Mr. Beilschmidt is whole. Mr. Beilschmidt is out of the closet. Mr. Beilschmit is gay and fucking proud of it. Mr. Beilschmidt has a boyfriend. Mr. Beilschmidt has _friends._ Mr. Beilschmidt is the one doing the screaming and yelling, but Mr. Beilschmidt's screams and yells are never angry. Mr. Beilschmidt is kind. Mr. Beilschmidt is good at what he does. Mr. Beilschmidt is honest. Mr. Beilschmidt is open. Mr. Beilschmidt is noticed. Mr. Beilschmidt is a transparent book.

Mr. Beilschmidt is happy.

Gilbert Beilschmidt, the school's new chem teacher, had quickly won over the hearts of his students.

He would constantly tell everyone entertaining stories about his life, especially stories about his Birdie and the adventures he had with his group of friends who, for some reason, called themselves the Bad Touch Trio. Also, points WILL be docked if you don't spell BTT with capital letters.

Even better, he'd use his stories to help everyone learn better.

"So imagine Lovino really quick. You know, that friend of mine who's negative, repels everyone away, but still has the most positive person in the entire world all smitten for him? It's like Lovnio's a negatively charged non-metal atom, and if Lovino is negative, then Antonio is the positively charged metal atom. Now, picture in your heads how negative Lovino is. Since he's negative with all those electrons, he needs something positive. Antonio, since he lacks several negative electrons, readily and easily attracts Lovino. Now, when two electrons love each other very much, the very negative atom gives his valance electrons to the positive atom. If the positive atom has the same number of electrons missing as the negative election has extra, they form an ionic bond, and then it's a happy, healthy relationship where both sides are satisfied and complement each other perfectly and become something new, something better."

Mr. Beilschmidt paused for a second, and for that second the class remained silent. Next second, and a huge grin broke out across Beilschmidt's face. Beilschmidt chuckled out in a low, teasing voice, "Lovino gave Antonio his electrons, but at night he gives Antonio a little more, you know what I'm saying?"

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Then, the joke landed.

The class erupted into ear-splitting laughter. Universe-bending, room-filling, world-shaking laughter.

Joseph laughed, too. Yes, he found it funny, but he also laughed because the only time he could laugh at all was in Mr. Beilschmidt's room.

With such an anecdote, forgetting the boring chemistry material was next to impossible. In fact, being bored in Mr. Beilschmidt's class was next to impossible.

Mr. Beilschmidt not only taught; he entertained.

He'd come to school dressed as Issac Newton and have Gilbird in a parrot costume and talk in a ridiculous, borderline offensive British accent all day. Or he'd take the class outside, blow up a coconut, and have everyone take notes on thermochemistry. Or, heck, he was even willing to read through chapters upon chapters of the painfully dull _Pre-AP CHEM, Concepts, Equations, and Applications_ , just so that his students wouldn't have to. And, he'd make a study guide and practice quizzes and had an endless supply of annotated textbook pages.

Also, instead of grading assignments in red pen, Beilschmidt would grade in hot-pink marker, claiming that hot pink is more awesome, and while they had homework, it was never just busy work, with Mr. Beilschmidt being very understanding if you missed a day and had to catch up.

No question was too stupid. No concept could be explained too many times. No student's case was hopeless, and you bet your ass that Mr. Beilschmidt would come for you if you dropped out of Pre-AP Chem, because he took a student's failure as a failure of himself. He cared, so the students cared, too.

Mr. Beilschmidt, along with his cute little Gilbird, made his students look forward to chemistry, and he himself said that, "You can't learn anything if the classroom experience is un-awesome! And yes, un-awesome IS A WORD!"

Plus, despite Beilschmidt's massive ego, he also had - still has - a heart. A very, very, very big heart. It could even be argued that he's a big softie.

Mr. Beilschmidt would always ask you how your day was going. He'd always crack a funny joke if you felt down. He'd always be considerate of and never call on that kid who was too shy to raise his or her hand.

Joseph was that kid.

Joseph never talked that much, not even to Mr. Beilschmidt, even though Mr. Beilschmidt was so, so easy to talk to. It was so easy to just pour all your problems out with your heart and soul when around Mr. Beilschmidt, but as much as he wanted to, something kept Joseph from telling anyone about his troubles. He didn't tell anyone about his awful home life, or tell anyone about his sexuality, or even tell someone about that big, blotchy, purple bruise on his stomach that hurt when it so much as brushed up against his desk. Especially not about that big, blotchy, purple bruise on his stomach that hurt when it so much as brushed up against his desk.

No one could know, absolutely no one.

Joseph already had his plan laid out in front of him.

He'd finish high school, get good enough grades to get enough scholarships to give himself a free ride through college, find a job, meet his future husband, adopt a dog, and call it a day. Well, that was the best case scenario. Worst case scenario would be that his spiraling depression would one day become overwhelming, and he'd loose the fight he'd been fighting every day for years, and that would be the end of that.

Every day was a battle he had to win. If he lost, even once, he'd pay with his life.

Alcohol mixed with pills was a good, painless way to do you over, right? Especially when your parents weren't home ninety-percent of the time, right? So no one would find him dying in the bathtub and save him, right? He'd have enough time to die, right? He'd have enough willpower to actually do what he needed to do, when he needed to do it, right? He'd finally be at peace, right?

. . .

Joseph sighed, then shuttered, then weakly swatted those dark thoughts away. Those thoughts would come back, though, just like fists and hits and yells and arguments. They always came back. The only thing that didn't come back was anything that brought Joseph joy.

That included Mr. Beilschmidt because next year, in AP Physics, Joseph would be stuck with that mean, cranky, condescending Mrs. Thompson everyone always complained about.

Joseph tilted his head up to get a better view of Beilschmdit, and as expected, he was scheming.

Beilschmidt did that a lot. Besides being a good teacher, he had an intense, intense rivalry with the other chem teachers, and currently, Beilschmidt was trying, and succeeding, to get everyone pumped for the next test so that they could absolutely crush Mrs. Rigsby's class in terms of average score.

"Alright, here's what we'll do!" Mr. Beilschmidt pulled up the large sheet of cardboard that everyone called "Mr. Beilschmidt's Awesome Study Guide of Awesomeness". Make sure that you pronounce it with great grandeur and in a dramatic, over-the-top voice, too.

Mr Beilschmidt's "Mr. Beilschmidt's Awesome Study Guide of Awesomeness" was, of course, Mr. Beilschmidt's creation. He took it out the day before every test, and they'd go over basic concepts, equations, and study strategy. What made everyone really love "Mr. Beilschmidt's Awesome Study Guide of Awesomeness", though, was that a Jeopardy-style study session/game/extravaganza would occur within the last twenty minutes of class, and during the extravaganza, Mr. Beilschmidt would divide the class into five teams and have them competitively answer questions in the most epic of epic smack-downs ever.

Winner got both candy AND the opportunity to pet Gilbird. And, the candy Mr. Beilschmidt gave out wasn't Jolly Ranchers or those crappy grape-flavored sweets you only got because they were on clearance.

If your team won the awesome smack-down Jeopardy chem question extravaganza, each member would either receive a bar of chocolate of their choice or, if they had a nut allergy or were lactose intolerant or something, Beilschmidt had at his disposal those large, rainbow lollipops that you could only get at a specialty candy store. Because, as everyone knows, candy and sweets and chocolates are the primary fuel and motivator for the majority of teenagers.

"Okay, if sodium and nitrogen are in an ionic bond, then how many of each atom would you need for the compound to have a neutral charge?!" Mr. Beilschmidt, with Gilbird next to him of course, called out as he pulled the question onto the projector.

A girl named Violet raised her hand and excitedly screamed, "Three sodium and one nitrogen!"

"GOOD!" Mr. Beilschmidt exclaimed, and he pulled up the next question. "Name the chemical formula for perchloric acid!"

"One Hydrogen, one chlorine, and four oxygen!" This time Carter had been the one to answer.

"EXCELLENT! NOW BALANCE THIS EQUATION!"

Beilschmidt clicked to the next slide, which contained a chemical equation that needed to be balanced.

"One, two, and two on the reactant's side, one and two on the product's side!"

"CORRECT-O! NEXT!"

It went on like that for a while, with the class descending into more and more chaos, and more and more students dared to raise their hand, answer the question, and crawl into the fray in order to win their team free candy.

"TWO!"

"HYDROGEN PEROXIDE!"

"THE CHARGE WOULD BE NEGATIVE THREE!"

"DICHROMATE!"

Questions, answers, and more questions went flying in every direction. The entire scene was complete and utter mayhem, and Joseph knew that it was just the way Mr. Beilschmidt liked it.

Joseph sat quietly in the background. He'd never been much of a person who was for crowded places or loud rooms, and both of the above choices occurred simultaneously basically all the time in Mr. Beilschmidt's room. But, Joseph still chuckled at and enjoyed and savored the small ounce of excitement he was allowed to feel in the awesome Mr. Beilschmidt's class.

Joseph smiled.

For a tiny, fleeting, glittering moment, Joseph smiled as Mr. Beilschmidt did what he did best: make other people happy.

* * *

Gilbert sat in his classroom, alone, except for Gilbird who had decided to take a nap on his shoulder. School had ended around an hour ago, but he wanted to get some grading done so that he'd have less on his plate the next day. In all honesty, he preferred the multiple-choice answer sheets because they were less work to grade - all he had to do was put them through a scanner - but he knew that free-response quizzes and tests were better at assessing knowledge. Therefore, grading all these open-ended assignments by hand was a necessary evil. Besides, Mattie probably wouldn't be home for around another hour, anyway.

Mattie, who was, is, Gilbert's wonderful, radiant, spectacular, amazing, awesome boyfriend, taught at a local college. Of course Mattie teaches at a college! Of course he's a brilliant, well-liked professor! He was, is, the brightest, smartest, most awesomest man to have ever existed! Gilbert giggled like a silly school girl, his thoughts smitten with his adorable French-Canadian boyfriend.

And, Gilbert considers Mattie even more awesome than himself, a fact that he rarely admits but commonly acknowledges.

The thought, the oh, so precious and oh, so real thought of Gilbert and Matthew sitting on the couch together, snuggling and cooing and loving, kept Gilbert grounded, and with the simple imagining of Matthew Williams pinging like heaven's gates in his mind, Gilbert cracked his knuckles, took a deep breath, and powered through the 180 or so quizzes. He graded and graded and graded, his hands fueled by the mere idea of having a nice dinner with Matthew. The idea wasn't much, but it was more than enough to keep Gilbert going.

Grade after grade after grade came out. Gilbert graded as quickly as he could without making a mistake, because god forbid he make a grading mistake and cause for a student of his to be grounded because of said bad grade, and in Gilbert's opinion, the parents were sometimes a bit too tough on their kid.

This was Pre-AP Chemistry, alright? It's supposed to be a hard class! Yes, you'll get a C here eventually. It doesn't matter if you're a straight-A student; that C will come sooner than you think, and that's alright! You can work with a C, or even a failing grade, as long as you don't give up! It's never too late to try harder next time, and someone can't do that, some can't grow, with a parent constantly breathing down their neck, demanding perfection every single time!

Time after time Gilbert would receive an email from an angry parent asking if their child should drop the class, and of course Gilbert said no. A less than stellar quiz or even test wasn't the end of the world. Struggling was alright, as long as you learned something from it.

The sight of a student teary-eyed and panicking because of a B on a test broke Gilbert's heart. The student was obviously trying. They weren't slacking off; they weren't being lazy; they were trying as hard as they could, and sometimes, some people just had to accept that it was enough.

The student would put their head down, choking on their own "bad" grade and worrying about the reaction of the parent, and for any mother or father who accepted nothing less than an A, Gilbert wanted to slap them in the face. There would always be that kid who got A's no matter what, no matter how much or how little they tried, but if that isn't your kid, that's still fine! Not everyone is good at Chemistry, alright? Failure is a part of life, alright? Just accept it and move on and try again next time, because raising someone to panic at and cry at and fear something as simple and integral to life as failure was, in Gilbert's professional opinion, a recipe for disaster, alright?

Gilbert remembered that time he almost failed college chemistry first semester, but after winter break he had been able to dramatically do a 180 and turn his grade around, all because the people who cared about him - mainly Matthew - helped him to stay calm and study.

College taught Gilbert a lot, really, but three important life lessons stood out in particular, three life lessons that would stick with him like gum in your hair for eternity.

1\. Don't fear failure. If you never fail, you a) probably never try anything new and exciting and b) can never grow. Just because you failed at Algebra doesn't mean that you've failed as a person.

2\. Whenever you're struggling with something, don't block other people out, no matter how tempting it may be. Gilbert had the scars on his forearms to prove it, and he always wore long sleeves, even in the heat of summer, for a reason. There will, sooner or later, be a time in your life when you feel less than awesome, and that's okay.

3\. Suicide IS NOT an option. IT GETS BETTER, and after you down those pills or cut a little too deep or jump off a bridge or have a gun pointed to your brains, it'll be the greatest regret and the worst decision of your life.

. . .

Gilbert was, is, so glad to be alive.

. . .

Gilbert took a deep breath, blinking away the tears as he did so. He wouldn't cry, not here, not now. He was at school, and any random teacher or student staying after hours could poke their head in and see him.

He could cry all he wanted once he and Mattie were on the couch, alone together. Only then could he bawl his eyes out while at the same time telling Birdie how awesome his day had been, and once he finished crying, Matthew would tell him a funny story about second period, or complain about a student who was practically wasting money to pretty much sit in a classroom and not care, or maybe the night would just end in a pile of sweet, soft, shy kisses and gentle caresses in bed.

As he turned over to the next page, Gilbert drew his huge, hot-pink, awesomer-than-red marker and continued grading, the thoughts of Birdie and his students and his friends and his past and his goddamn awful parents weighting heavily on his mind.

* * *

Joseph walked, alone, in the hallways after school. He didn't want to go home. It was too painful to go home.

Instead, Joseph stayed, his form wandering through abandoned hallways and eerily quiet corridors. Joseph remained drawn within himself, even with nobody here, because he was so accustomed to people ignoring him. His parents probably wouldn't even notice if he stayed at school for the night. Hey, at least he could buy a bag of chips from the vending machine rather than open up all the kitchen cabinets only to find nothing.

No one cared about him.

Honestly, though, Joseph didn't know how long he'd stay. The janitors would probably kick him out eventually, which would leave Joseph with little other option than to dare to venture home, but for now, he continued to aimlessly pace around the building.

Joseph, in an effort to entertain himself, decided to follow the path he'd normally take during the school day, and with his backpack full of provisions in case he had been locked out of the house for the night and his large textbooks causing a heavy hunch in his back, Joseph strolled to art class, then Algebra II, then French, but at fourth period, he stopped. He had chemistry fourth period.

To his surprise, a shadow on Mr. Beilschmidt's desk loomed under the stacks of papers, and Joseph assumed that Mr. Beilschmidt was still here, probably to grade papers or something.

Sure enough, there his chemistry teacher sat, his back as straight as a pencil when he was ironically so gay that it put Joseph's occasional crush on a random hot male celebrity to shame.

Joseph figured that perhaps he should turn away. Beilschmidt was busy, and Joseph didn't want to intrude. However, just as Joseph turned to leave, out of the corner of his eyes he saw his teacher's head pin around, and through the small glass panel of the door, they stared at each other, waiting for something, anything, to be said.

Beilschmidt finally, finally, finally, after a long, long, long, awkward, awkward, awkward silence, opened his mouth to produce surprisingly quiet, surprisingly muffled words.

"Hey Joseph. Something bothering you?"

Joseph stiffened. It had been so, so long since anyone, _anyone,_ asked him such a simple yet significant question. Joseph didn't reply, instead opting to just open the door and walk in. Joseph left the door open. Force of habit, really, because you can't bolt through the door and away from your drunken father when you have to waste three seconds turning the knob.

"Um, yeah," Joseph stuttered as he tried to bullshit a reason for him being here. His mind scrambling through what they had learned today, Joseph at last came up with a question.

"You know, I've kind of been beaten down by dimensional analysis lately, especially with the unit conversions, and I have the papers that I'm confused about, too. You think you could help me with that?"

Which, if you thought about it hard enough, was actually code for, "You know, my father's been beating me lately, especially when he's drunk, and I have a big, purple bruise on my stomach to prove it, too. You think you could help me with that?" However tempting, though, Joseph kept his mouth shut.

"Oh, yeah, I can help, no worries!" Beilschmidt smiled, a genuine, helpful, caring smile. Joseph couldn't remember the last time anyone had smiled at him like that. That thought almost made Joseph cry.

A pause.

"Well, don't just stand there. I don't bite! Which papers, exactly?" Mr. Beilschmidt gave out a good-natured chuckle, far different from his regular and spine-chattering "kesesese".

"Right!" Joseph dropped his backpack and books to the ground, and from his bag he retrieved a few papers from today's lesson.

"Don't fret too much, alright? A lot of students have a hard time with dimensional analysis, but that's why you guys have awesome moi as your teacher!"

Beilschmdit smiled, and Joseph smiled.

Mr. Beilschmidt explained the dimensional analysis, and afterwards Joseph exited the school that day with a sad grin on his face. However, he felt glad that at least someone cared, and at the same time the teenager left unaware that Mr. Beilschmidt wielded a great empathy for the abused and neglected. After all, Mr. Beilschmidt had been there before.

* * *

For surprisingly young English college professor Matthew Williams, it had been a stressful day. He had to stay late because his class would be moving onto another unit tomorrow, and he couldn't leave for home until he finished the lesson plan. Plus, everything just seemed to have went wrong that day. His lunch had gone missing while in the staff-room fridge; in the hallway he'd run into the microeconomics professor, a man who Matthew tried to avoid because while he didn't say anything outright, the older professor definitely disproved of Matthew's relationship with another man, which made every interaction of their's painfully awkward; and he had a mountain of tests to grade once he came to work the next day.

So, all in all, Matthew didn't radiate with energy and wellness by the time he left the university at six o' clock in the evening, and of course, since he was having an unlucky streak today, someone had spilled hot cocoa on his favorite maple-leaf sweater during the bus ride home.

Matthew sighed, his lecture notes and briefcase hanging like dead weights from his arms, and with both exhaustion and relief due to it being the end of the day, he trod into the apartment complex and up the stairs, eager to get home.

"Hey, Gil, I'm home!" Matthew called out as he unlocked and opened the door to the apartment he shared with his boyfriend, Gilbert.

Matthew found Gilbert there, with Gilbird perched on the top cushion, laying on the couch, mindlessly watching some random daytime talk-show.

At the sound of Matthew's voice, Gilbert noticeably perked up, turned his head, and poked his nose over the edge of the sofa, smiling that goofy, love-struck smile of his, and the action caused for Matthew to give him an equally goofy and love-struck grin in return.

Prompted by the sight of his boyfriend, Matthew left his bags by the door, waltzed into the living-room, and attacked his lovely Gil with pepper kisses and and bear hugs, and for that he earned from Gilbert some giggles and coos.

The stress on his shoulders suddenly released Matthew, and despite his less than perfect day, he felt so, so happy to have a loving boyfriend and a pet bird-child to go home to.

"Glad you're home." Gilbert said that with a genuine, honest, god-adorable smile, a smile that lifted Matthew's heart and made him able to fly, and Gilbert's words came out of his mouth in a manner ever so loving, sweet, and gentle. His gruff German accent sounded so very delightful to Matthew's ears, and Matthew sighed happily as his boyfriend's hard, red eyes became soft.

Gilbert stretched his arms out to snake them around Matthew's waste, and Matthew took the opportunity to gingerly kiss Gilbert's temple.

"I love you," Matthew told Gilbert.

"I love you more," Gilbert teased.

"No, I love you more."

"Of course the awesome me loves you more, silly!"

"Non! Je t'aime encore plus!"

They went back and forth like that for a while, each partner becoming more and more adamant that they loved the other more, and after a silly-sweet few minutes, Matthew finally suggested that they cook dinner.

"I love you more." Gilbert smirked.

"Oh fine." Matthew chuckled as he feigned defeat, but Gilbert just kissed his check.

Matthew smiled; he was so, so glad to be home.

* * *

 **Listen, I'm sorry if this chapter is a tad more, let's just say, emotionally intense than intended. I know, I know, this is under the humor category, but I just can't help myself when it comes to angst! Gotta make it at least a touch sad, you know? If you've read any of my other fics, then you'll know that I like to add a healthy dose of depressing powder. XD**

 **In fact, the only reason I put the scene of Matthew and Gilbert at the end was so that I could ease the mood a tiny bit, and I promise that next chapter will be more funny than sad. Also, Joseph won't be a major component of every chapter, but I do want to write his gradual growth throughout the school year. I know it's a bit early to be giving him a lot of screen-time, but his eventual realization that he doesn't have to put up with his shitty parents is gonna take a while, and you can count for shit to hit the fan once Gilbert finds out about Joseph's crappy home life.**

 **Despite what people might think, I imagine Prussia being a big softie with an even bigger heart, especially when it comes to people who have suffered.**

 **I suppose this is goodbye for now, but I do hope that you favorite, follow, and review if you like the story, and tell me what you think of Joseph's character. Other than that, have a nice day, and make sure that the turtles of the world are safe (cause I'm a crazy turtle lady with two turtle babies)! :)**


	3. A Man Named Matthew Williams

**Chapter 3: A Man Named Matthew Williams**

* * *

 _Gilbert Beilschmidt could only stand._

 _He could only stand and watch in horror._

 _From behind a glass wall, you can't do much. From behind a glass wall, you can't jump in and help. From behind a glass wall, you can't jump in and stop yourself from hitting your boyfriend._

 _With his eyes wide, lips trembling, and knees weak, Gilbert could only watch._

 _"STOP! STOP IT! STOP IT!" Gilbert screamed. Tears burned his eyes. His heartbeat shuttered violently through his body. Chills that felt like pins and needles in his skin repeatedly ran up and down his spine. He hammered his fists onto the glass. Over and over and over again, until his hands bled and his arms felt broken and his limbs became numb, but he continued bashing, continued banging, continued trying to get in and stop himself._

 _Right here, right now, somehow, Gilbert, from behind a wall of glass, was witnessing himself **beat** Mattie. Every fear, every apprehension, every worst-case scenario Gilbert had ever worried about in his mind was occurring right in front of him, and he could do nothing to stop it. He'd promised! He'd promised himself to never abuse anyone! To never smack or hit anyone! To never assault anyone! To not even scream at them out of anger, because emotional abuse is abuse, too! _

_Why was he gripping Mattie? Why was he bruising his precious Birdie's wrists? Why did he sound so angry?_

 _. . ._

 _Why did Gilbert look so scary?_

 _. . ._

 _Matthew looked absolutely, positively, irreversibly terrified, and Gilbert himself was mortified. He'd never, ever in a million years be able to get that look of fear in Matthew's eyes out of his mind._

 _Save him! He needed to save Matthew! Gilbert needed to save the person most dear to him from him!_

 _A choked sob weakly rose from his throat, and Gilbert pressed himself against the glass, his sweat and tears and the pain of his heart staining the surface with fog._

 _No, stop, make it stop, make it stop, MAKE IT STOP!_

 _The Gilbert from behind the glass, the Gilbert who had the fucking nerve to harm anyone, much less Mattie, turned to him, and he looked at him. He looked at Gilbert from behind the glass._

 _Terrifying. Skin-curdling. Monstrous._

 _This was him._

 _This wasn't who Gilbert wanted to be. This wasn't what he wanted._

 _Gilbert wants to be a good person. Gilbert wants to make everyone around him feel safe. Gilbert wants for the people around him to **be** safe._

 _All of a sudden, his mother and father appeared over him, their presence causing for Gilbert to turn around. With their shadows heavy on his shaking body, Gilbert, through the darkness, felt them stare him down, icy blue eyes critical yet also expressing, to his horror, triumph. Gilbert was helpless, absolutely, positively, completely helpless._

 _Mother's voice haunted Gilbert's ears. It scared Gilbert to his very core._

 _"You are us," she said in German. "We abused you, I won't deny it, but one day you'll become abusive, too. It's just how it works, mein Sohn. It's a cycle that you can't break."_

 _Gilbert snapped his head up; now he was angry. He gave his parents a dead-on stare, his figure rising up as he tried to intimidate away Mama and Papa and everything they represented and believed in._

 _Awful, awful people they were. Awful, awful people they are. Awful, awful people they'll always be._

 _Those days when Gilbert would show up to school with bruises he hid and a black eye that he explained away with a stupid, stupid, wrong, wrong story._

 _Those evenings when Gilbert would lay in bed, without dinner, because he'd given it to Ludwig, because he'd rather die than see his brother cry out in hunger._

 _Those mornings when he'd wonder so, so, so hard why he wanted a boyfriend and not a girlfriend, and wonder why he felt this way, and wondered what in the world was wrong with him._

 _Those nights when Gilbert would lay in bed with Ludwig, holding him tight, promising him to protect him forever no matter what. To protect him from the school bullies who said he was too weak. To protect him from hunger. To protect him from their parents._

 _Their parents could beat Gilbert all they wanted._

 _There was no way, no way in hell, that they were going to get to Ludwig._

 _. . ._

 _"You have failed Ludwig."_

 _. . ._

 _Gilbert didn't even know who had said it, but the statement rang insistently in his ears over and over again. He couldn't get it to stop. It wouldn't stop. It just won't stop!_

 _He had failed Ludwig. He had failed Mattie. He had failed._

 _He had failed._

 _He had fucking failed._

 _Oh, fuck, oh fuckity, fuck, fuck, he'd fucking failed so damn hard that the world couldn't take it!_

 _"Oh, FUCK! Make it stop! Fucking stop it!"_

 _Gilbert screamed, screamed so damn loud that his voice grew raw. He plugged his ears, plugged them so tightly that they rang. He wanted it to stop, wanted it to stop so badly that his heart hurt from it._

 _Stop! Stop! Please stop! Stop it! Stop it! Make it go away! He knew that he'd failed! He knew it! And he heard Mattie's terrified screams in the background, because Gilbert couldn't save him from the abuse; and he heard Ludwig cry, because Gilbert hadn't been there to protect him; and he heard his parents laugh that cold, cold, cold laugh of their's that let him know, that let everybody know, that he'd failed them all._

 _Gilbert Beilschmidt's a goddamn failure._

* * *

"Gil."

Mgrh?

"Gilbert."

What?

"Gilbert Beilschmidt."

He was confused.

"Gilbert fucking Beilschimdt, please, wake up! You're safe. Please, wake up!"

As Gilbert came to his senses, he felt as if the ground was shaking.

No, scratch that; someone was shaking him.

"Gilbert! Gilbert!"

Gentle, soft hands wiped the tears away from his face. Gentle, soft hands that Gilbert knew he didn't deserve.

"Mattie?" Gilbert croaked.

The silence blared. The darkness stared. Mattie was there.

Gilbert shot up and out from under the covers faster than what should have been humanly possible.

Sweat.

Tears.

Fear.

That's what the room smelled like.

Their shared bed within their shared bedroom, was dark. And silent. And the bed-sheets had been soaked in buckets of sweat. And Mattie sat there, cross-legged, right next to Gilbert.

Gilbert carefully studied Mattie's pearl-pale skin, his arms, his neck, his legs. They were free of even a single scrape. No bruises, no cuts, no scratches, nothing. Mattie was alright. Mattie was alright! He wasn't hurt! He hadn't been hurt! Gilbert was so damn happy of Matthew's lack of injuries that it made him want to touch the sky and cry until the ground started shaking! Holy fuck, Matthew Williams was okay! He's okay!

"Gil?"

Oh, fuck, was Mattie's voice so, so soft. So, so gentle. So, so perfect.

Mattie's a fucking angel.

"Oh, Gil. Oh, Gilbert, come here."

Softness. Gilbert took in every drop.

Mattie's lips gingerly kissed the tears away.

"Mattie, it was awful. So fucking awful." Gilbert found himself sobbing. So un-awesome, but he still brought his hands up to his face, his fingers catching the all too familiar feeling of post nightmare cries.

Matthew gave him more kisses.

"Tell me aboot it?"

"So fucking awful, Mattie. It was so fucking awful! I was hitting you and I couldn't fucking stop. Aw, fuck, it was so bad, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I didn't want to! I couldn't stop, I-"

"You weren't hitting me, Gilbert."

The statement entered Gilbert's ears, vibrated through his brain, and smacked him harder than it should've.

"You had that dream again?"

Gilbert could only nod.

"You know you'd never lay a finger on me, or anyone. You know that. You're a good person. You're a kind, good person."

"But I was hitting you! I saw myself!"

"You weren't, Gilbert. I promise. You weren't hitting me, or yelling at me, or making me cry. See? See my face? See my arms? See my legs? They're okay. It's all okay, Gil."

Gilbert gripped onto Matthew's hand tight. Matthew sighed.

"I heard you talking in your sleep. Oh, Gil, the things you were saying about yourself, they're not true. Please, believe me; they're not true."

Gilbert continued to choke on his own crying.

"Oh, Gilbert fucking Beilschmidt, you're not a failure."

"But-"

"You're not violent."

"But-"

"You've never abused anyone in your life. You never will. You know that, goddammit."

"But my parents-"

"You're not your parents."

Gilbert couldn't reply.

"Gilbert, look at me."

Gilbert was always surprised at how intimidating it could be to stare Mattie dead in his soft, purple eyes. In fact, their softness was probably what made them so scary. So scary. So calm. So much comfort. So much love. Gilbert couldn't bear to look at them.

"Gilbert, I said look at me."

Gilbert finally looked Matthew in the eyes.

"Repeat after me: I have never, and never will, hurt anyone."

After a hefty moment of hesitation, Gilbert opened his mouth and mimicked Matthew's words.

"I have never, and never will, hurt anyone."

"I have never, and never will, abuse anyone."

"I have never, and never will, abuse anyone."

"I am not my shitty parents."

"I am not my shitty parents."

"I am not a failure to Ludwig."

"I am not a failure to Ludwig."

"I am awesome."

"I am awesome."

"J'aime Matthew."

"I love Mattie."

"The translation's good enough." Matthew kissed Gilbert's temple.

"Oh, Mattie."

Matthew held Gilbert in his arms with shocking strength. Mattie, despite his slender, tender frame, was, is, so, so strong.

"Oh, Gil."

"I love you."

"Je t'aime aussi."

Matthew set Gilbert down, and for a while they lied in silence, together.

"Back to sleep?" Matthew asked.

"Yeah, back to sleep."

Gilbert fell asleep to Matthew's embrace.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt, I fucking love you to death."

* * *

"Oh, God, the alarm."

Gilbert held back his laughter over his boyfriend's complaint. He sat up, gave his arms a stretch, and looked at a writhing, squirming, tired Matthew.

The alarm screeched its awful tune in the background, and after leaving it on for a few more seconds just to annoy his groggy partner, Gilbert reached over to turn it off.

"Gil, why do you have to get up at five in the morning?"

"It's a teacher thing."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"You don't get it because you're a college professor who has classes that begin at eleven."

"Aw, fuck the public school system."

"Alright, since you don't want to wake up, I'm gonna get Gilibird up."

Gilbert felt a pair of arms wrap around his waste, and those same arms attempted to drag him back into bed.

"No, please. Stay?" Matthew looked at Gilbert with his best puppy-dog eyes, and if it weren't for the fact that he needed to get to work in order to finish grading a comically large pile of quizzes, Gilbert would've stayed.

"I'm sorry, babe. You know I have to go." Gilbert kissed Matthew's forehead.

"On the lips, too?"

Gilbert complied with a soft, tender smooch.

"I'm surprised Gilbird doesn't hate you, with you waking him up early and all. Probably calls you an early bird and everything."

"Oh, gosh, Mattie, you're so quick to jump to conclusions. Of course Gilbird likes getting up early!"

"Yeah, tell that to Gilbird's morning poops." Matthew gave Gilbert a satisfied, albeit sleepy, smirk.

"So sassy." Gilbert rolled his eyes. Matthew rolled them back, and he slammed himself back into bed.

"Alright, suit yourself." Gilbert strutted over to Gilbird's cage, and as soon as he gently undid the door's latch, Gilbird slowly peeped open his eyes.

"You're an early bird, right?" Gilbert asked him. Gilbird chirped in reply.

Gilbert waited, though. As a little PSA to everyone who doesn't know that much about birds, they typically hold in their poop during the night and, as Matthew had said, release a massive, big ol' dump in the morning, so it's best to wait until they 'morning poop' before taking them out of the cage.

Gilbert'll spare you the details, but Gilbird did his business, and when Gilbert swung open the cage's door, he reached his hand in and gently told Gilbird, "Step up."

Gilbird jumped onto his finger, an action which made Gilbert beam.

"Good bird!"

Gilbert held Gilbird up to his face, where he allowed for Gilbird to preen his hair because apparently, Gilbird thought that everyone's feathers were disgusting and needed a thorough beaking.

"Thank-you for cleaning me," Gilbert giggled. He walked over to Matthew, who, while sleepy, greeted Gilbird with a "Good morning".

Gilbert found that routine relaxed Gilbird. He found that Gilbird liked stepping up on Gilbert's finger after waking up, liked it when Matthew said good morning to him, and liked it when either Gilbert or Matthew brought him to work with them.

"I have Gilbird today, right?" Matthew asked groggily.

"Mm-hmm." Gilbert nodded as he let Gilbird hop onto the bed-frame.

They alternate who Gilbird spends the day with. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Gilbird comes with Gilbert to work, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays, he accompanies Matthew. On the weekend, all three of them hang out together, because that's just what you sign up for when you get a bird.

"Alright, I'm going to get ready for work. See you later." Gilbert couldn't help but give Matthew another kiss.

"Have fun dealing with angsty high school students and their shitty parents," Matthew chuckled. His sugar-sweet voice dripped with enough sarcasm to fill a bathtub.

"So sassy, dammit." Gilbert bent down to playfully nip Matthew's neck. His volume dropped, and he brought his lips up to Mattie's ear, and he put on his bestest, most rumbliest, most Matthew-attracting German accent. "I think I'll have to do something about that later." A deep growl escaped Gilbert's throat.

"You're gonna do something naughty to me later, Prussian boy?" Matthew whispered back, voice as smooth as honey. He quirked his eyebrow for good measure.

"Yes, very, very naughty," Gilbert replied. He snickered and smirked and gave Matthew the most devious of expressions. "You'll be home by six o' clock tonight?"

"You can count on it." Matthew sat up; crossed his bare, pants-less legs; and licked his lips. Matthew's drop-dead gorgeous, especially when he's wearing nothing but a red maple-leaf sweater with no underwear.

Gilbert got, and still gets, excited just thinking about it.

"I'm going to get ready for work."

* * *

"Haven't you heard? The new replacement professor's coming."

"Today? Are you sure?"

"Oui! Aren't you curious?"

"I am; don't get me wrong. I'm just a bit nervous, that's all."

Matthew sat with his coworker and close friend, Francis, in the break room of the university they both taught at. Matthew was sipping a nice tea that he had spiked with maple syrup, because of course he was; he's Canadian. Francis, on the other hand, drank coffee. The next lecture started in twenty minutes, which left plenty of time for an exchange of gossip and the spread of questionable news.

Don't worry, while Matthew and Francis sat in the break room, Gilbird was being looked after by Kiku, the campus's calculus professor. Since he and Francis were drinking tea and coffee, Matthew wanted to entirely prevent the possibility of Gilbird ingesting caffeine. Another mini PSA about birds: caffeine, alcohol, and avocados are extremely toxic to them. In fact, it's generally advised that you don't let your bird into the kitchen at all, especially when you're cooking. Also, if you have a bird, do not, as I repeat, DO NOT, use non-stick pans, ever, because heating the coating inside such pans can kill a bird rooms away within minutes. Hey, just be safe out there, you know?

"And what makes you nervous?" Francis set down his coffee, and despite the broad nature of the question, Matthew already knew the direction this conversation was heading.

Matthew took a moment to think. When it came to this subject, he always had to think.

"Gosh, Francis, I feel so silly being apprehensive aboot this, especially since I know that I'm safe." Matthew sighed into his mug.

"You're not being silly, mon ami! It's a valid concern," Francis refuted. He took another swig of coffee, and before they knew it, both of their cups had been emptied. Neither went back for another drink, though. The tea and coffee were merely a vessel to get the conversation going, and once the talk got where it needed to be, Matthew and Francis needed no additional assistance.

"But I've come out so many times. I should be comfortable with it now."

"Nonsense! Sometimes, the fear of telling people you're gay never goes away, no matter now many times you do it."

Silence filled the room for a second. Both needed that second to digest what had just been said.

. . .

"You think the replacement professor will be like Dr. Murphy?" Matthew questioned tentatively, then gulped. "Or worse?"

"The microeconomics man? Well, I certainly hope that the new professor will be a bit more open-minded, and a little less passive-aggressive," Francis replied. He then shrugged, a gesture which very accurately described the volatility of the pending event.

Francis continued with a somber yet optimistic look on his face, and he tried to interject a little humor into the many moods that lingered within the room. "I swear, whenever I see you and Dr. Murphy interact, I can practically sense the aneurysm you're having."

"Things are tense between us, yeah," Matthew agreed. "I'm just glad that our lecture halls are on opposite sides of the campus. I don't want any trouble with him."

"You're too polite."

"I'm Canadian, eh?"

"Oui, mais je suis Français. Therefore I don't suffer from the curse of always having to be nice."

They shared a chuckle.

"We should get going," Matthew suggested. Francis nodded, and they carried their cups to the sink before turning to go back to their respective lecture rooms.

"Things going well with Gilbert?" Francis, out of nowhere, asked. The tone in which he said it almost sounded suggestive, and the wink Francis gave Matthew didn't help, either.

Matthew's face turned red; Francis acted like his dad sometimes. "Don't worry, they're going well," Matthew said shyly. Under his breath, but loud enough for Francis to hear, Matthew added, "You're such a pervert, you know that?"

"That's good to hear. But, just let me know when he breaks your heart so that I can come chasing after him to break his fingers and toes one by one!"

"Francis!"

"You never know! It could happen! And if it does, I, as your wonderful friend, will have no problem letting you cry on my shoulder!"

"Yeah, that'd be great," Matthew backhandedly remarked. He didn't know whether to feel exasperated or touched that Francis cared so much.

"Oui! C'est why je suis ton ami!"

* * *

"OKAY, EVERYONE LISTEN UP!"

Mr. Beilschmidt's voice ripped through the classroom, and his usual inhumanly large grin appeared to be even larger than usual today. Some people joked among themselves that Mr. Beilschmidt's increased level of excitement indicated that he and Matthew had, well, to put it frankly, they were going to have sex once they got home.

If only those students knew that they were absolutely right.

"TODAY'S LESSON PLAN IS," Mr. Beilschmidt's dramatic pause caused for the eerie spread of silence, a silence that made everyone shutter.

Pause.

Pause.

Come on, Beilschmidt, say something!

Suddenly, to everyone's surprise but not shock, Mr. Beilschmidt's playful and hyper expression became more warm and relaxed. He looked so, so caring, and everyone knew that when Mr. Beilschmidt was like this, it was best to be quiet and just listen. Not that anyone minded; in fact, on days like these, which would normally happen around once a month, would be the days when Mr. Beilschmidt showed how much he truly cared about every student here.

. . .

"Today, we're going to have a very important and serious talk about abuse."

. . .

Mr. Beilschmidt's statement rang in the classroom like a loud bell. Everyone, for a moment, held their breath, but even though they felt a tenseness on Mr. Beilschmidt's shoulders, it was almost as if this tenseness Mr. Beilschmidt bore was his way of saying to some that they weren't alone.

Mr. Beilschmidt's voice grew uncharacteristically quiet and gentle. His smile softened into something much more manageable than usual. In that moment, in that very moment, Mr. Beilschmidt expressed something that his classes rarely got to see: vulnerability.

In fact, their teacher looked as if he was about to _cry._

Oh, shit, things were about to get very, extremely, mind-bogglingly serious, weren't they?

No, this wasn't within the official school curriculum.

No, this wasn't something that the other teachers did. Some of the other teachers would've even viewed this discussion as a waste of time.

But yes, Mr. Beilschmidt was going to talk about it.

Yes, Mr. Beilschmidt fucking cared. He cared about every damn person within this room. He cared so, so much.

That's what makes him awesome.

* * *

 **Oh, FRICK IT! IMMA PUT THIS STORY UNDER THE HURT/COMFORT CATEGORY, TOO! I HAD ONE JOB: TO MAKE THIS CHAPTER NOT COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY AN EMOTIONAL TRAIN-WRECK, BUT I FAIL EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. DANG IT.**

 **All joking aside, though, the bird facts mentioned within this chapter are actually true, and said information is relevant when you have or are considering getting a bird. Birds are a HUGE commitment, and I want for certain aspects of this story to reflect that since Prussia DOES have a bird in the anime. The bird information sounds random and weird, but birds are one of the most commonly neglected pets, even though many of them are extremely intelligent. Some would even argue that neglecting a parrot is on the same level as neglecting a child, just because parrots are so smart and possess a level of self-awareness! Birds'll even pluck out their feathers if they're either bored or stressed, which is the bird-equivalent of self-mutilation, so yes, birds are MUCH, MUCH smarter than what many give them credit for, and they need MUCH, MUCH more care than may of us are able to give.**

 **Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter, and I'm hoping to make next chapter more funny. I say that every chapter, but seriously, I want to get some laughs from the audience, not just tears!**

 **Please review, favorite, and follow if you like this story, and other than that, have a nice day (Or night, depending on your timezone)! :)**


	4. It's Never too Early for Halloween!

**Chapter 4: It's Never Too Early for Halloween**

 **Cuba and Seychelles will make an appearance this chapter, but since they don't have official human names, I'll be referring to Cuba in this story as Carlos and Seychelles as Michelle, as both names are used with relative frequency within the fandom.**

* * *

At 10:21 A.M., on Monday, October 1st, 2018, Samantha was the first student of third period chemistry to enter Mr. Beilschmidt's room.

She expected for it to just be a normal late morning, and by normal, she meant that she expected for Mr. Beilschmidt, with Gilbird on his shoulder, to come bolting in from the break room, his expression demonic and his excitability sky-high. He'd start yelling excitedly at the class after a few seconds, and then he'd enthusiastically and entertainingly tell the class about the lesson objectives, and the class would spend the rest of the time laughing their heads off at their teacher's ridiculous yet very effective lesson.

Over all, Samantha really liked Mr. Beilschmidt. He was passionate about his job, friendly to everyone, and made learning really fun. Like, really fun. As in, so much fun that she actually _looked forward_ to school just so that she could attend the rodeo that was Pre-AP Chemistry, and to vouch for the fact that she considered Mr. Beilschmdit a very good teacher, Mr. Beilschmidt had the highest averages out of everyone in the science department.

So yeah, with third-period chemistry quickly approaching, Samantha found herself in quite a pleasant mood, and with her lips whistling and a pep in her step, she eagerly swung open the door.

The sight Samantha came across made her freeze in complete and utter shock.

. . .

Pumpkins.

Candles - electric ones; no one wanted to go starting any fires.

Cobwebs.

Spiders. Fucking spiders. Fuck, did she hate spiders.

And to top it all off, organ music was being blasted from a speaker. At full volume. Somehow, someway, Gilbird was sleeping on Mr. Beilschmidt's desk through all of it.

The room fucking screamed Halloween.

. . .

"BOO!"

. . .

Samantha stifled back a scream, then almost tipped over as Mr. Beilschmidt, who had dressed himself in a cheap vampire costume, jumped out from behind his desk, startling her, and for a moment after, Samantha could only stare, with pupils small and heart about to implode, at her slightly insane chem teacher.

The very next thing she did once she got over her initial fright was close her eyes, ball her hands into fists, and straighten her arms to her sides. She turned red and came face to face with Mr. Beilschmidt before jokingly screaming, "Mr. Beilschmidt, I HATE YOU!"

"Kesesesese!" Instead of feeling bad about scaring her, Mr. Beilschmdit looked as if he was about to die of laughter. His hands were clutching his stomach, and his skin-curdling laugh, which only added to the Halloween spirit, roared through the room. It was like a comedian who found his own mediocre joke absolutely hysterical, but no one else was laughing. That no one else was Samantha.

Tears of amusement wiggled their way out from Mr. Beilschmidt's eyes because he was just so damn pleased with himself, and while Samantha wanted to stay mad him, she couldn't. She eventually started giggling her heart out along with her cackling, costume-clad teacher.

Mr. Beilschmidt's voice hissed a bit more than usual because of the false vampire fangs capped around his teeth. She briefly debated whether or not fake vampire teeth were allowed at school, but quickly brushed it off. If the school - for some reason or another - let Gilbird hang around, then surely they'd let some shitty vampire teeth from the dollar store slide. Mr. Beilschmidt also dawned a cape, a cheap suit, and his red eyes and hair for sure helped his otherwise relatively average getup.

In short, Mr. Beilschmidt didn't look that scary. Rather, he looked absolutely ridiculous.

As organ music thundered through Samantha's ears, Mr. Beilschmidt ran to behind his desk and pulled out a werewolf mask. He impressively, from across the room, tossed it to Samantha, who eyed it in confusion.

"Alright, if you want, put that on and help me scare the daylights out of the rest of your class," Mr. Beilschmidt told her, and he smirked his signature, mischievous grim.

It only took a single firing of one of her neurons for Samantha to decide whether to sit this one out or not.

"Beilschmidt, you evil, evil man." She snickered at the devious plan.

"It's what I do!" Mr. Beilschmidt chuckled.

Samantha eagerly slid on the mask, and as more students entered the room, they, too, got a fright of a lifetime, before being quickly roped into Mr. Beilschmidt's scheme of scaring the living hell out of the next person to come in.

Samantha felt so, so bad for the last person to show up, because they'd be the one to receive the collective scaring power of the entire rest of the class.

Unfortunately, that last person was Mrs. Rigsby from next door, who had popped by to ask Mr. Beilschmidt for some extra copies of today's homework assignment. The poor woman didn't talk to Mr. Beilschmidt for a week after.

* * *

It was the end of class, and Samantha, as usual, lingered behind for a few minutes after everybody else. She always did, because for one thing, she had lunch next, and you can't be late for lunch. Second reason, though, was because Mr. Beilschmidt's classroom provided her with a degree of safety from her bullies.

Mr. Beilschmidt knew this, too, and even though he assisted her greatly when she had reported the bullying, nothing much had been done. So, after that fiasco, and since Mr. Beilschmidt couldn't do anything personally lest he be slapped with a verbal assault lawsuit, Samantha resolved to just stay in Mr. Beilschmidt's room until the bullies passed. Mr. Belschmidt would even poke his head out the door and scout the hallway for any approaching mean girls, and those same bullies knew that they couldn't so much as tease Samantha with Mr. Beilschmidt's careful eye watching.

"Hey, Mr. Beilschmidt, can I ask you a question?" Samantha inquired.

"I think that was already a question." Ever wider did Mr. Beilschmidt's satisfied smirk grow.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt, I HATE your guts," Samantha snapped back, and after a moment of falsified tenseness, the two shared a chuckle at their own inside joke.

"Do continue," Mr. Beilschmidt told her once they'd stopped laughing at themselves.

"Well, I was just wondering, how does Matthew feel about your over-the-top decorating?"

"Well, we can't afford a house yet," Mr. Beilschmidt admitted, "so we don't have a front yard to decorate. But, both Mattie and I love Halloween, so we decorate our classrooms as a sort of consolation until we can afford a house."

"That's sweet. Do you guys coordinate decorations or anything?"

"You bet."

Mr. Beilschmidt pointed to a skeleton in a corner, a decoration which Samantha hadn't paid much mind to previously. The skeleton wore a top-hat, and upon closer inspection, Samantha realized that perched on its shoulder was a fake yellow bird.

"Is that a skeleton you?" Samantha questioned, amused.

"Yup! And Mattie has a skeleton model of himself, too, but his has glasses as a yarn hair-curl." Mr. Beilschmidt replied, his smile even wider than before.

"Nice."

The two gave each other a fist-bump, and after Mr. Beilschmidt scoped the hallway to see if it was safe for her, he gave Samantha a thumps up as a go-ahead, indicating that the hallway was bully-free.

"Well, I guess I'm off, then." Samantha smiled, threw her bag over her shoulder, and walked cheerfully to the door.

Without another word, Samantha left.

She didn't need to say goodbye, for she knew that Mr. Beilschimdt would always be there and available for his students.

* * *

It was precisely 10:30 AM, on Tuesday, October 2nd, 2018.

Matthew Williams, who happens to be Mr. Beilschmidt's beloved boyfriend, stood proudly before his classroom. Of course, Gilbird was there, too, and he had found Matthew's head to be a nice place to nest for the morning.

Hands on hips, normally hunched posture all of a sudden straight, eyes marveling at his and his new coworker Carlos's work; a sense of pride swelled through Matthew's chest.

"You really outdid yourself," Carlos commented.

Before them was Matthew's lecture hall, but it looked very, very different from the usual and barren seat, stage, and podium.

Why, you ask?

Well, that was because every inch of the lecture hall, from floor to ceiling, seat to podium, had been stickered, glittered, lit, plastered, taped, spackled, and postered over with an absurd quantity of Halloween decorations.

Matthew smiled in satisfaction. His students were in for the surprise of their lives once they came in at the beginning of class.

"Well, Gilbert and I absolutely adore Halloween, so we decorate our classrooms every year to celebrate the holiday," Matthew explained, and he felt his face redden just slightly at the mention of his boyfriend.

"That's pretty cute," Carlos chuckled, clearly finding the idea hilarious.

A second passed before either said anything again.

"Thanks for helping me, man." Matthew turned to Carlos, who smiled back at him. Matthew didn't really know what else to say; it was the first year he'd had any help with his yearly Halloween decorating. He couldn't complain, though. Having an extra pair of hands to hold onto the ladder definitely made hanging witch's hats off the curtains easier, and it definitely gave Gilbert more peace of mind, as he feared that one day, Matthew would accidentally kill himself by climbing onto the windowsill in order to tape a skeleton sticker to the wall.

"Yeah, yeah, no problem," Carlos replied. The two coworkers gave each other a high-five as a celebration to their hard work.

Carlos, the university's replacement professor who had come in at the beginning of the year due to an emergency, and Matthew had become fast friends soon after Carlos's arrival.

Matthew had been quite nervous about how the new professor would take to him being gay, but it turned out that Carlos has absolutely no problem with it. And, while Carlos isn't attracted to men himself and has a wife, he is, indeed, quite friendly towards the LGBTQ+ community. With that as a basis for their budding friendship, the two coworkers got along swimmingly, and Matthew, Michelle, Francis, Kiku, and Carlos regularly went out with each other on nights when they had the time, not as coworkers but as friends.

Now, all they had to do was wait until everyone else arrived.

Francis was the first other person to enter Matthew's lecture hall.

They knew it was him because they heard Francis's signature failure to drop French from his vocabulary even though he was speaking in English. He's a French teacher, though, so Matthew supposed that it was fine.

"Mon Dieu, Matthieu! What have you done?!"

When France appeared at the door, he spun his head around the room, his expression that of a man half-shocked but also half-impressed.

"What do you think of our decorating job?" Matthew asked, feeling prouder than he ever thought he'd be capable of. He even puffed his chest up a bit.

This year, Matthew had really gone all out with the decorations. Again, it was related to the fact that he had some help, and Matthew was hoping that Carlos would be around next year, too, so that they could have an even more impressive display the following October.

Francis didn't, or rather couldn't, speak for a while, and Matthew let him stoop there in silence. For a several long minutes, the French professor just wandered around the lecture room, his eyes taking in every inch of the decorated hall. Fake cobwebs were everywhere the eye could see; spiders hung from the ceiling; carved pumpkins were placed randomly between seats; electric tealight candles dangled from wires; and, to top it all off, next to the podium was a skeleton and organs anatomy model Matthew had borrowed from the biology professor, Dr. Yao Wang, whose room sat two doors down. The human body replica, with all its scary-looking organs and bones and teeth, had a pair of glasses and a yarn hair-curl taped to it, and it was unmistakably meant to be the skeleton version of Matthew.

Michelle came next, and when she came, her words of bewilderment echoed through the pathways and classrooms.

"Holy guacamole!" they heard someone exclaim.

Matthew, Carlos, and Francis turned at the voice to see a short Seychellois woman behind the lecture hall door-frame. The normally chipper and energetic woman stood still as a statue at the entrance to Matthew's classroom, her arms dangling to her sides as she remained in her state of surprise. A solid minute of wide-eyes, twitchy eyebrows, and hurricane-gasps later, Michelle finally brought herself to shakily walk up to Matthew and Carlos. There, she eyed them with an expression of pure disbelief, as while Matthew had been known to lightly ornament his room for holidays, never before had it been to this extent.

Matthew greeted Michelle with a smile, and he casually waved at her as if decorating one's room from top to bottom in preparation for Halloween was normal.

Michelle, like Francis, couldn't resist exploring the room, and as she and Francis spent the next few minutes wearily combing over every single detail of the area, Matthew and Carlos looked on, satisfied of the reception.

Carlos patted Matthew on the back, and the two professors shook hands at a job well done.

* * *

"You think that it's a little early to be carving pumpkins? They'll turn to mush in around two weeks." Matthew eyed Gilbert and his pumpkins with slight exasperation.

"It's never too early for Halloween, Mattie!" Gilbert proudly set his newly purchased pair of pumpkins down on the living-room table, and he looked at Matthew, his grin so large and his expression that of a man so impressed with his own idea that if Gilbert wasn't his boyfriend, Matthew would've imagined their only interaction being at a bar in which Matthew was flipping Gilbert off while Gilbert drunkenly sang - using a spoon as the microphone of course - on the bar table.

It's a surprising fact, but a fact nonetheless: Gilbert doesn't drink. Partly because of Gilbert's fear of becoming an alcoholic like his father and partly because of doctor's orders.

Important note: **alcohol makes depression worse.** Doctor's words exactly.

"Except for those advertisers that start in August." Matthew, as usual, jokingly interjected his boyfriend's excitement with his well-advertised brand of oh-my-God-Gilbert sarcasm.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Gilbert replied, obviously paying little attention to Matthew's snarky remark. Good thing he didn't, too, because nice as he may be, Matthew can push the satire to Jupiter if you let him. Give him an inch; he'd throw you a mile, and Matthew knows that Gilbert's more than aware of that.

Matthew _is_ an English professor. And what good English professor doesn't find a great enjoyment in dabbling with the delicacies of passive-aggressively mocking word-play?

"Kiss?" Gilbert asked slyly. His poked his cheek with his finger, and as requested, Matthew smirked and kissed him on the cheek. Gilbert did the same in return. Equal relationship, you know? One kiss one way and another kiss the other way. It isn't an exact science. No exact numbers. But keeping things even makes them, and most other partnerships, work.

"Love you." For a moment Gilbert's playful snickers dropped to a loving smile, and the grin Matthew gave in return contained just as much heart.

Moments like these made Matthew feel truly like the luckiest man in the world.

"Carve some pumpkins with me?" Gilbert asked, even though Matthew knew that he already knew the answer.

"Of course." Matthew chuckled as Gilbert dropped Gilbird onto his shoulder.

"You wanna join in, right?" Gilbert questioned to Gilbird in a voice more high-pitched than his usual German-accented gruffness.

Gilbert will never, ever in forever admit it, but he always talks to Gilbird in that high-pitched voice parents addressing their children use. Matthew can't blame him, though. Gilbird's their bird-child, plain and simple.

Gilbird squeaked cheerfully in reply, and as Matthew gently scratched Gilbird's head, Gilbird ruffled up his feathers, almost as if preparing for the pile of newspapers, pumpkin goo, and and utter mayhem to occur.

"Pick a pumpkin, any pumpkin!" Gilbert presented Matthew with the two pumpkins he had previously bought, and Matthew faked a pain-staking decision as he oscillated between the choices Gilbert had given him.

Matthew scratched his chin, then rumpled his hair, then after a long minute of Matthew's feigned indecisiveness and Gilbert's inability to not fidget with everything within a ten-meter radius, Matthew finally decided on the pumpkin in Gilbert's left hand.

Gilbert breathed a sigh of relief as he was finally able to move again, and with that, Matthew, Gilbert, and Gilbird happily sat down with their pumpkins and began carving.

* * *

Their two pumpkins sat cozily across the room, on a television that had been used as an impromptu display case for said pumpkins. One pumpkin had the face of a polar bear; the other, a surprisingly artistic and accurate portrait of Gilbird. The two pumpkins acted as a sort of nightlight, and don't worry, they were using electric candles. Another side note about birds: Don't light real candles in your home if you have a bird in the house. Candle fumes are bad for them. Also, back to the issue of fire being, well, a fire hazard.

Gilbird lied asleep in his cage, which had a towel loosely draped over the top because that action seemed to sooth him during bedtime.

Matthew and Gilbert, meanwhile, were on their bed, under the covers, with Matthew in Gilbert's tender embrace. Before Gilbert, Matthew never knew that a man this loud and obnoxious and all-over-the-place could be so fucking gentle.

But Gilbert's fucking gentle.

Hands, although hard and callused from weight-lifting, were so soft against's Matthew's skin, and Gilbert had his chin nuzzled between Matthew's neck and shoulder.

Matthew smelled Gilbert. He smelled nice, like spice and wurst and a good German - Prussian - beer, even though Matthew knew for sure that Gilbert hadn't touched one since their college days. It wasn't the spice or wurst or beer itself, though. It was just the fact that spice, wurst, and good-quality Prussian beer gave Matthew a sense of warm pleasantness, and Gilbert was that warm pleasantness but a billion times over.

Neither said anything for a while. Neither wanted to break such a lovely, cuddly moment.

Silence.

Silence.

This was nice.

Finally, Gilbert said something, although quietly, which was highly unusual. Even more unusual was that Matthew couldn't hear him, because even at his quietest, Gilbert's voice most of the time still enveloped the room.

"Gil?" Matthew turned, and looked at his beautiful Gilbert.

Silence.

Silence.

Then, Gilbert spoke again.

"Hey, Mattie, can I ask you something?"

"You've already asked a question, Gil."

"Geez, and my students say that I'm the sarcastic shit."

"You don't really think that I'm a sarcastic shit, right?" Matthew batted his eyes lashes, and he looked at Gilbert, and Gilbert firmly shook his head no, almost looking regretful.

"Oh, you, don't look so sorry," Matthew sighed playfully, but also with an undertone of sadness in his voice. He knew that the reason why Gilbert shook his head was no mere apology; the past abuse Gilbert experienced had conditioned such meekness into him, which, luckily, didn't show around too much anymore, but whenever it did, it broke Matthew in the fucking heart. Every. Single. Time. Perhaps, Matthew subconsciously thought, if Gilbert was exposed to enough of Matthew's famous natural sarcasm, then maybe it'd ease the effect his awful, awful parents had on him. However, a subconscious thought was just a thought.

Gilbert hid it well most of the time, but his past of being abused, by his own mother and father, too, loomed over him like a shadow.

That shadow was what really made Matthew's heart shatter.

This man, this vibrant, wonderful, amazing, caring, awesome man, was being squashed and squished and pushed around by two people he had long ago cut from him life. The scars of abuse lingered like that, you know? Sure, Gilbert's bruises had healed, but the bruises in his heart probably never would, not completely. However, gently in his hands Matthew would hold Gilbert's heart, and no matter how long it fucking took, Matthew would cradle that broken heart until it was all better.

Despite Gilbert's worst fears, no, he's not abusive. Far, far, far from it. Gilbert's everything his parents aren't. Because Gilbert's gentle. Gilbert's caring. Gilbert can actually, in a healthy manner, love. Gilbert has a heart.

Screw Gilbert's shitty parents! Screw them! They're the source of the love of Matthew's life's gosh-damn suffering, and Gilbert doesn't deserve to suffer, not any more than he already has, dammit.

"Matthew?" Gilbert sounded so weak and pitiful that it sent shivers down Matthew's spine. The Prussian man's previously soft yet firm embrace became loose, almost scared, as Gilbert seemed to retreat into himself.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, Gil. You know that."

More silence passed.

"Matthew, should I apologize to the world for existing?"

Matthew's heart clenched, before breaking, this time into a million pieces. He wasn't worried about his own heart, though. If his heart had broken into a million pieces, that was peanuts compared to the billions of heart shards laying in Gilbert's chest. They were billions of pieces of Gilbert's big, loving, caring heart. Such a big heart the man has. Such a big heart doesn't deserve to be broken time and time again.

Matthew wanted to cry.

Matthew whipped his way out of Gilbert's hold, and he swiftly turned so that he and Gilbert could see each other, in the darkness, eye-to-eye. Their foreheads knocked together. Their faces were so close that Matthew would've kissed him.

"Don't you ever fucking say that. Gilbert Beilschmidt, don't you ever apologize for existing." Matthew was dead serious.

Tears threatened to fall from Matthew eyes.

"Mattie-"

"Nope, not having any of that, Gilbert."

"I-"

"Gilbert, don't you ever fucking apologize for being alive."

"But Mattie, I'm depressed, you know? Doesn't that ever bog you down? Doesn't that bog other people down?" Gilbert looked like he was about to break down into tears.

Matthew, on the other hand, was sobbing.

"Gilbert, that's not true." Matthew felt his voice become uncharacteristically firm. "It will never, ever be true, okay? Don't you even start!" Matthew wrapped his arms around Gilbert tight, for Gilbert, who looked like he'd traveled back to a former, more closeted stage of his life, was too shy to.

Matthew heard Gilbert trying to choke back his own tears, and at that point he'd had enough.

Matthew let the silence linger for just a second longer, before he finally burst out into a difficult yet necessary rant.

"Cry, Gilbert! You can fucking cry! You don't have to be strong and solider on, you know that?! You're human. Mon Dieu, Gilbert! You're fucking human. Remember what your therapist said? You're not DEPRESSED. You HAVE depression. It's hard to see you so down on yourself, Gilbert, but don't you ever, ever, EVER think that you're a burden, because you're fucking not, alright? Mon Dieu, Gilbert Beilschmidt, mon Dieu! Your depression doesn't define you, Gilbert, and even if it did, you're still a great person, you know that?!"

Matthew heard sobbing, and Mathew sobbed along with Gilbert, and together they lied, a crying, sad heap, but nonetheless, it needed to be done.

Soft cries that were also powerful enough to shake mountains radiated through their bedroom.

Gilbert deserves his humanity, just like the rest of us.

Goddammit.


End file.
